


Whatever You Say (The Vehicular Displacement Remix)

by keerawa



Series: Indirectly [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Car Sex, Consent Issues, Curses, Dirty Talk, Exhibitionism, Impala, Kinks, M/M, Masturbation, Remix, Sibling Incest, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-23
Updated: 2009-11-23
Packaged: 2017-10-18 04:59:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/185300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keerawa/pseuds/keerawa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somehow, even when whammied by a spell that makes him do whatever Dean says, Sam still gets his way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whatever You Say (The Vehicular Displacement Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Whatever You Say](https://archiveofourown.org/works/163546) by [jasmasson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jasmasson/pseuds/jasmasson). 



> This is an alternative ending remix of [](http://jasmasson.livejournal.com/profile)[**jasmasson**](http://jasmasson.livejournal.com/)'s delightfully kinky Sam/Dean fic, [Whatever You Say](http://archiveofourown.org/works/163546). You might enjoy reading her version first! If not, just know that Sam's been affected by a spell that makes him do whatever Dean tells him. Dean takes advantage, in true big-brother fashion, not realizing until too late that _the more you asked someone under the spell to do something, the more they wanted to, until they just wanted to make you happy. They’d no longer really need just direct instructions but seek out ways of giving you what you wanted._ And the sexual thrill they get from following orders? Just icing on the cake. This is [](http://jasmasson.livejournal.com/profile)[**jasmasson**](http://jasmasson.livejournal.com/)'s evil genius. The marvelous woman even agreed to beta for me. Any remaining incoherency is my own fault.

_“Let me make you happy, Dean,” Sam’s voice was deep and dark. “Let me give you what you want. I know you want this, and I’d do anything.”_

 _“Sam,” Dean tried to get back under control. “Don’t…”_

 _But Sam moved quickly, diving to push his lips against Dean’s, soft but demanding, muffling Dean’s protests._

 _“Fuck Sammy,” he whispered as Sam pulled back._

 _“What do you want, Dean?” Sam asked. “I need to give you what you want.”_

* * *

  
Dean snatched his keys off the bedside table and shoved them into Sam’s hand. “I want you to go sit in the car, and stay there, Sam,” Dean ordered. He meant it. Mostly.

Sam made a soft noise, pleasure and protest together, as he stood up and immediately walked out of the motel room.

Dean put his head in his hands and breathed. So, yeah, he was kind of twisted when it came to Sam. Had been for a long time. He’d always figured what Sammy didn’t know couldn’t hurt him. Only it turned out Sam knew _exactly_ what his fucked-up big brother wanted from him.

And that – that sucked out loud. Made sense of chunks of their history, though. Those deep, distant silences before Sam left for Stanford. The unreturned phone calls. The defensive pride that had stiffened Sam’s spine when he introduced Dean to Jess. When they got back on the road, Dean had told himself Sam was grieving his girl and the normal life that had burned to ashes in Palo Alto, but it wasn’t enough to explain the way Sam blew hot and cold towards him.

But Sam was still here, right? Even knowing what he knew, Sam was still okay with riding shotgun in Dean’s car, sharing a motel room, and hunting together while they looked for Dad and the demon. So this thing, right now, was just a matter of damage control.

The spell that made Sam want to do all that … stuff for Dean would last another 24 hours, tops. So Dean just had to keep a lid on things that long. Try not to give Sam too many orders, since he seemed to be chasing the happy jolts he got from following them. Once the spell wore off, he and Sam could go back to ignoring the freaking elephant in the room, and everything would be fine.

Dean rubbed the back of his neck. He should clean the shotguns, but they were all in the car, and - no. Dean turned on the TV and watched a few minutes of some generic horror flick. Sam would’ve ripped into the cheesy dialogue and stupid monster effects.

Did they still have some water bottles in the car, in case Sam got thirsty? What if the spell hurt him? Sam could be having a seizure in the car, and Dean wouldn’t even know.

The moment Dean stepped out of the motel door he saw his brother sprawled out on the hood of his baby, not ten feet away. He wondered if Sam had misheard him, or if “sit _in_ the car” and “sit _on_ the car” were close enough for the spell.

Sam sat up. “Dean,” he said, a grin lighting up his face, “you came out!” He sounded like when he was eight, when hanging out with his big brother was all it took to make Sammy happy.

Dean let the door swing shut. “What’re you doing?”

Sam relaxed back against the windshield. “I was remembering when we used to stargaze at Pastor Jim’s. It’s a little too bright around here for it.”

Okay. That was not normal. Sam didn’t seem to have any good memories of their childhood, normally. But it made for a nice change of pace.

“Well, a 15 minute drive would get us to the middle of nowhere. You, umm, wanna go for a drive?” Dean asked cautiously. The motel had some exterior lights, but his eyes were still adjusting. Dean couldn’t tell if that was a real innocent look on Sam’s face, or the ‘innocent’ look that was better than lock picks and a .45 for getting him what he wanted.

“Sure!” Sam agreed cheerfully. He tossed Dean the keys, hopped off the hood, and the two of them got in the car.

Dean turned the key in the ignition and listened carefully as the engine turned over. Still purring like a kitten, perfectly in tune. Sam was suddenly way too close.

“Just tell me what you want Dean,” he said quietly. “Let me do this for you.” Sam sounded reasonable, like he was trying to persuade his brother to eat something healthy for breakfast, while one huge hand rubbed up along the inside of Dean’s thigh.

“Jesus, Sam,” Dean said desperately, “don’t _touch_ me.”

Sam pulled away in a shuddering, sinuous wave.

“And stay on your side of the car,” Dean yelled - like when they were little in the back seat, _‘Dad, Sammy keeps touching me,’_ \- so fucked-up, and shit, that was two orders.

“Mmmmm, yeah,” Sam agreed huskily from the far end of the bench.

Dean pulled out of the parking lot and focused on driving. Addison was a flyspeck of a town. The main street was actually called Main Street, and along its 20 blocks of urban sprawl Dean counted two motels, two churches, three bars, and four bait shops. He pulled up at a stoplight by a VFW lodge, and glanced over at Sam.

His brother was restless, leaning forwards in his seat, sliding his fingers along the dash. Dean could tell that Sam was watching for a reaction out the corner of his eye, so he just ran a reassuring hand down his baby’s steering column, and didn’t say a word.

Dean wished he had some music to listen to, but the radio around here was crap, and the tape box was on Sam’s side. He couldn’t tell Sam to hand it over, and reaching for it would pretty much put his head in Sam’s lap, which, no.

The light turned green. They drove past a few more houses and then it was just them and the little two-lane highway, slipping through the woods.

Sam started shuffling around in his seat.

“Sam?” Dean asked.

“Hot,” Sam complained, stripping off all of his three shirts and tossing them into the back.

It reminded Dean of that sweltering summer they spent outside of Gulfport. Sam was 16, and the little bitch pretty much refused to put a shirt on from June until August. Sam grew another two inches that summer, filled out and slowly turned nut-brown in the sun. Dean spent so much time and energy _not looking_ that his focus was shot to hell. Dad kept checking him for signs of a head injury.

Sam’s left hand traced back and forth along his collarbone, right over the sweet little mole that Dean had, fuck, dreamed about while Sam was away. Sam brushed the fingers of his other hand along a seam in the leather upholstery, stroked down the lines of the glove box, and ran his fingers lightly along the metal frame of the passenger-side door as if he was trying to seduce the Impala.

Dean swallowed and adjusted himself. Sam was acting like he was on E. Probably the next stage in this fucked-up spell. Dean wished that witch had been a little less human. The bitch had gotten three innocent guys sent to prison, stealing stuff for her under the influence of this spell. Then Sam got whammied by it when her cauldron blew up in their faces. They didn’t kill humans, but Dean would’ve enjoyed shooting her in the face.

Dean glanced over. Sam’s head was tilted to the side, looking out his window. One hand was in his lap, resting on the noticeable bulge there. The other was tapping softly on the glass.

“Don-” Dean stopped, rephrased that. “If you do that, you’ll get fingerprints on the glass.”

“That’s okay, I can clean it.” Sam turned towards Dean. Dean looked back at the road. “You liked it when I washed the car,” Sam said eagerly. “I could do that for you again.”

And that was when the problem started, really. He’d made Sam wash her this morning, back when Sam had to do anything Dean told him, but didn’t have to like it. Dean had brought a chair from their motel room out to the parking lot and made it his throne. Sam had bitched, and complained, and managed to get himself soaked in the first five minutes.

Sam always missed important bits when he lost a bet and ended up washing her. Sometimes he’d forget to use two buckets, skip cleaning inside the wheel wells, or not bother lying on the ground so he could really get into that gap under the fender. Dean made him do it right this time. Do it perfect. He gave order after order, dozens of them, and Sam had gradually stopped complaining and started to enjoy himself, stretched out in the golden morning sunlight, his huge hands gently rubbing every inch of Dean’s baby clean with the shammy.

A quiet gasp drew Dean’s attention back to the present. Sam’s head was stretched back, mouth open, and his hand was down his jeans, rubbing himself.

“Stop,” Dean said sharply.

Sam froze and groaned, loud and long, as if Dean had just done something _filthy_ to him. “Please, Dean,” he said urgently, “please let me. I never have, not in the car, and she’s _yours_ , and I want to…” His voice was close to a whine.

It wasn’t like Dean had never heard his brother jack it before. When Sam was a teenager, he spent so much time jerking off in the shower that Dean wasn’t sure whether to be proud of him, or perform an exorcism. Dean had even walked into their room a few times without knocking and caught him at it. And this was ... okay, a little weird, with Sam sitting right next to him in the car, but Dean could just keep his eyes on the road. And it’s not like Sam would thank him for coming out of this with a case of blue balls ‘cause Dean wouldn’t even let him rack his own shotgun, right?

“Yeah, okay, Sam,” Dean said in a pack-a-day voice. “Take it out. Go for it.”

Sam moaned. Dean kept his hands at two and ten on the wheel, eyes on the road. He ignored the sound of Sam’s zipper, the rustling of his jeans, the familiar _fwap fwap fwap_ coming from a couple feet away. A little hiss of breath. Dean glanced over. Sam was fisting himself with his left hand, while his right had a white-knuckle grip on the door handle.

“Ease up, man, you’re gonna break something,” Dean said without thinking, and then snatched his attention back to the road, not listening to Sam’s sudden _Mmmm!_ He followed the yellow line through the dark trees on either side of them.

Sam started whispering, “Oh… oh … oh,” not building, not getting louder, just repeating it over and over. Dean looked over, and Sam was barely touching himself at all; his thumb and forefinger were in a loose ring, and he was slipping it up and down over the head of his cock. Jesus, it was gonna take hours for him to come like that that. Dean couldn’t take this much longer, and why would Sam do it that way, it was – oh. Dean had told him to _ease up_ , and Sam was. Dean shivered. Oh, fuck this. There was a break in the trees up ahead. Dean pulled a few hundred feet down some fire access road, put her in park, clicked the dome light on, and turned sideways in his seat to face his brother.

Dean could see everything. The pale skin of Sam’s chest, smooth except for a few jagged scars. Jeans gaping open. Sam’s cock, flushed and hard, glistening at the tip as those gentle fingers slid up and down. Sam was facing him, eyes dark, lost in that too-soft touch.

“Harder,” Dean said.

Sam’s fingers tightened, pushed hard down the shaft, all the way to the base of his cock. “Yes,” he hissed. Pulled up his cock slowly, and then did it again. Sam’s hips were starting to move.

Dean could tell him to speed up. Or maybe go slow. Reeeal slow. Sam might like that. Or – no. Sam knew what he wanted. He didn’t need to be told. And Dean didn’t need to tell him. “You know how you like it best, Sam. Do it just like that.”

Sam switched hands and moaned. He started moving faster, hips making tiny thrusts up into his fist, thumb swiping over the head on every stroke. Sam’s left hand was pressing into the seat at the same rhythm he was stroking himself. He was panting now, getting close. Sam’s head was back again, lips parted, eyes closed, and Dean wanted … he couldn’t move closer, couldn’t touch, couldn’t taste the sweat gleaming on Sam’s throat, but he wanted to _see_.

“Look at me,” Dean ordered.

Sam’s eyes snapped open and locked on his.

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Sam said, a surprised little gasp, and then his cock was shooting, striping his stomach, chest, even the seat. Dean watched Sam gentle himself through the aftershocks.

Dean cleared his throat. “Why don’t you, uh, clean up, Sam. There’s a towel in the back.” Sam gave a deep, pleased sigh, turned, and started rummaging in the back seat with those freakishly long arms.

Dean rested his head on the steering wheel, vibrating a little in park, and pressed the heel of his hand against his own stupid, needy dick. So, that happened. Messed-up, yeah. But he hadn’t touched Sam, hadn’t _done_ anything. So it would be fine. He just had to take that, _god_ , perfect picture of his brother’s face when he came and lock it away in a little box in the back of his head.

Soft noises of cloth on skin, and then the seat creaked, and there was a weird sound, almost … wet? Dean picked up his head and checked on Sam.

Sam was kneeling in the foot well, hands wrapped over the seat back, face pressed to the seat. What was he…? Sam’s pink tongue flicked along the leather, lapping up his own jizz. Jesus Christ. Sam slid a little closer, staring at Dean while his lips and tongue reached for the last few drops.

“What’re you doing?” Dean demanded unsteadily.

“Cleaning up,” Sam mumbled against the leather. His hips twitched forwards, and the seat creaked.

“Are you rubbing off on her?” It’s just the spell, Dean reminded himself.

“Yeah,” Sam replied huskily. “Feels good.”

Dean’s mouth opened without his permission. “Do it again.”

Sam’s back arched. He moaned softly as he pushed his hips up and into the front of the bench, and she creaked back at him. Once, twice, three times. And, oh, fuck, Dean couldn’t -

“Sit down in your seat,” Dean said. “Open the glove box. There’s some condoms and lube in there. Get ‘em out.” This was a bad idea, but Sam was half-hard already, and Dean could see his cock twitch as he followed that last command.

“Sam, you ever…?”

“No,” Sam answered quickly. “But I want to. I want you to do it, be my first.”

Bad idea. Bad, bad idea. Sam would kick his ass. Sam would … Sam would _leave_. “Nothing? Not even fingers?”

“Fingers, yeah,” Sam answered quietly. “I used to … in the shower, jerking off, imagining you fucking me -”

Dean’s hand was already on Sam’s side of the car when he snatched it back.

“- all the time,” Sam was saying, staring down at the lube clutched in his hand, cheeks flushed, “and you, you’d fucking tease me about it, how much time I was spending in there, maybe I’d caught a succubus, and, _fuck_ , Dean, I know you want this too.” Sam’s hair was hanging in his face, and Dean wanted to push it back out of his eyes.

“Okay. Take – take your jeans off.”

Sam bent over and started with his socks and shoes. Then he arched up, shoulders pressing into the seat back, as he pushed his jeans and boxers down his thighs. Dean knew how that felt, had done it so many times, getting ready to fuck some chick. Bare assed on the front seat with a girl riding him. Back seat, pressing a girl down into his baby’s leather. Sam was breathing fast, almost panting, as he shoved his jeans down into the foot well and settled back naked in his seat.

“Turn around,” Dean told him. “Leg up on the seat. I want to see.”

Sam turned and spread his legs, back against the door, cock high and tight against his stomach. Sam’s legs were pulled in close, keeping clear of the imaginary line dividing his side of the car from Dean’s.

“You can stretch out more, get comfortable,” Dean told him.

Sam stretched out his legs slowly, the look on his face like a dare, until a knee rested against the dash, and his bare foot touched Dean’s knee. Dean gasped. “Okay. Now – lube up your fingers.”

Sam popped the cap, poured some onto his fingers, and coated them, slowly and thoroughly. He looked back up at Dean with a dirty little smile.

Dean’s throat was dry. “Start by rubbing on the outside. Tease yourself.”

Sam reached down, playing with his balls a little before pushing past them. One long, glistening finger circled his entrance. Sam sighed.

“Now inside, just a little.” Dean watched the tip of Sam’s finger press inside, emerge, press inside again. He looked up at Sam’s face. His lips were parted, eyes at half-mast but still focused on Dean.

“Push inside now, deeper, to the first knuckle.” Sam’s hand was blocking Dean's view of the action, but his eyelids fluttered. “Do you know how to find –” Sam grunted, and a shiver traveled along his body. “Yeah, that’s it. Stroke there, not too hard.”

Sam’s foot pressed against Dean’s knee as he moaned out, “Dean, fuck, more.”

“Okay, you can, two fingers now.” Sam started panting harshly. Dean had one hand clenched tight on the steering wheel, feeling his baby shake, watching Sam shake. His other hand … huh. His other hand was rubbing his dick through his jeans. Jesus, he just wanted to jump on top of Sam, bury himself in his brother’s body.

“Open yourself up wide for me with those fingers,” Dean growled. Sam’s whole body shuddered. His eyes were wide and dark, fixed on Dean’s face. His hips were grinding down onto his fingers, breath catching, and …

“Don’t come,” Dean ordered him. “Don’t come, Sam, not now, not until I’m inside you.”

Sam’s whole body went still and his face scrunched like he was in pain. “Oh,” he whispered, eyes shut tight. “Oh fuck. Fuck. Please, Dean…”

Dean’s brain was spinning. No room in the front seat. Back seat, still no, Sam was too tall. He flashed on Sam earlier, sprawled out over his baby’s hood. Jesus. Yeah.

“Get out of the car, Sam.”

Sam moved fast, scrambling for the door handle. Once his brother was outside, Dean took a breath. Okay. So. They were doing this. Dean finally, finally let himself pop the button on his jeans and slide the zipper down. His boxers were tinged a cheerful pink from Sam’s screw-up when Dean made him do the laundry last night. Dean pulled his dick out the slit, then noticed Sam bent over, watching him through the open door. Dean looked over at him, and couldn’t resist jacking himself a little.

Sam whimpered.

God. Condoms. What the fuck did Sam do with them? Dean slid over the seat, damp with his brother’s sweat, looking for them. There. A golden wrapper peeked out from under the jeans. Dean grabbed it off the floor, ripped it open with his teeth, took out the condom, and rolled it down his shaft. Jesus. The lube was there in the corner of the seat. Dean popped it open and slicked himself up.

“Dean,” Sam called out, sounding like he was dying out there.

Enough fucking around. Dean patted the dash and slid out the passenger side door. Sam backed up a little, throat working. Dean closed the door behind him.

“Over there,” Dean said, nodding at his baby’s hood. “Want you bent over the hood.”

Sam nodded jerkily and lay down on her. He flinched when his skin touched the metal.

“She too hot?” Dean asked.

“No,” Sam said. “Warm. Feels nice.” Sam stretched out his arms over his head, spread his legs wider, and looked back at Dean.

“You tell me if it hurts, if you want to stop,” Dean said.

“Jesus, just do it, Dean.”

Dean stepped forward. He curled one hand around Sam’s hip and guided himself towards that tiny, dark hole. Sam gasped when Dean started pushing inside. Dean froze, waited for Sam to stop him, waited to get himself under control, because this was _Sam_ , and he felt so fucking good, tight and hot and right.

Sam shoved back against him, and Dean slid a few inches deeper. Sam groaned. “Come on, fucking fuck me,” Sam said, in a thick, gravelly voice.

Dean planted a hand on his baby and shoved all the way in.

Sam grunted.

“You like that?” Dean asked. He slid out a little, fucked back in, hard. “Yeah, you do. Like your big brother’s cock in you.”

“Jesus,” Sam swore faintly.

Dean started thrusting deep and slow. “You like me over you, fucking into you, making your cock rub against her, all warm and purring under you.” He shoved his brother’s legs further apart, getting a better angle. Sam groaned so loud it echoed back off the windshield. “Yeah, that’s it, Sammy. Gonna come like that, not a hand on you, just my hard cock and her hard steel? Gonna do it for me?”

Sam bucked back against him, so hard he almost threw Dean off, and his come splattered all over the hood.

“So fucking hot,” Dean gasped. He grabbed onto Sam’s shoulders, rubbed forwards over his body, and managed a few more short, stuttering thrusts before he came so hard he almost blacked out.

Dean rested there on Sam’s broad, sweaty back until his legs stopped shaking. Damn, that was … freaking awesome. He eventually pulled out, stretched, peeled the condom off, and tossed it into the woods. It was quiet except for the satisfied rumble of his baby’s engine and a few crickets. Dean pulled up his pants and fastened them. Then he leaned over and rested a hand on the hood next to his brother. It felt slick under his hand. “Guess she does need another wash,” he told Sam.

“Your turn to wash her this time,” Sam said in a funny, choked voice. His shoulders were shaking a little, and – fuck. Was Sammy _crying_?

Dean’s stomach clenched, hard, like he might be sick. “Turn over, man,” he said gently.

Sammy turned around and sat up. In the dim light from the car Dean could see that the bitch was silently laughing at him. “This – this is not funny!” Dean told him indignantly.

Sam snickered. “Your _face_ is funny,” he said, and lost it.

Dean’s first instinct was to freak out, but there didn’t seem much point when Sam was sitting buck naked on the hood of his car and giggling like a fourteen year-old girl at a slumber party. Dean sat down next to his brother and waited. He’d given up trying to interrupt Sammy’s giggle-fits when the kid was six.

“When’d you snap out of it?” he asked when Sam seemed to be getting a grip.

Sam tilted his head and gave a half shrug. “It wore off gradually, I guess, somewhere between the first and second orgasm.” The laughter slipped away and his forehead creased nervously. “I, umm, liked the way things were going, so I just … went with it?”

He probably should start a conversation about that, make sure Sam was okay, give him a chance to talk about his feelings and shit, but Dean’s body was loose and buzzing in that really good, ‘just got laid’ way, so a mellow “Yeah?” was all that made it out of his mouth.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed warmly, with the same big, happy grin he’d been wearing earlier.

If Dean could put that look on his brother’s face, that was all he needed to know. Dean sat down on the hood, and then scooted back against the windshield. Sam ran his hands over his bare arms and disappeared into the car. He came back a minute later, wearing his jeans and a flannel shirt and stretched out on the warm hood next to Dean. They watched the stars until dawn.


End file.
